Gents & Dames
Sixteen: Luck Be A Lady
Officer O'Leary hung around the desk nervously. He stared at the signatures from the guys the beat cop had just dragged in. All three of them were scrawls; it didn't take a genius to recognize they were from guys who probably didn't read or write that well.
Three names, barely legible. But the middle one—Nathan Higgins—tugged at his memory. He could swear it was familiar. Couldn't say why, though. Nothing he'd heard down at the station, that he could recall; he'd checked through the city's criminal list and hadn't found it or anyone who matched his description. He even checked the last couple of months' worth of fines that had been sent out, in case he was just remembering someone who'd been brought in drunk recently, but there were no matches.
Odd.
A little after midnight, a woman came in. That was unusual—first off, this late, no one really came in by choice. But especially not women. Very especially not alone. And she didn't even look like one o the red-light district ladies; she was wearing a classy dress and carried herself with grace. Though kind of tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, O'Leary couldn't help but stare. She looked kind of...perfect. Even though O'Leary had no reason to be interested, he couldn't help but look.
"Can I help you?" he asked, standing quickly behind his desk.
She smiled. "I got a phone call earlier tonight. A—friend of mine," she said carefully, her voice soft, "seems to have been picked up. I can pay his fine."
"Oh, of course. What's the name?"
"Nicholas Meyers."
One of the three who'd come in recently. She set the fifteen dollars on the table and he pointed towards where she needed to sign. Her signature was also messy, which was odd, given that she reeked of class. He glanced at it. "Adelaide...Diamond?"
"Dee-ah-mond," she pronounced.
"Lovely," he answered. "Like you."
She tittered. "Oh, go on, I'll bet you say that to all the girls who come in here to bail out drunkards."
"Nah, your man wasn't drunk," O'Leary told her. "But I must say, not a lot of women come down here alone...It isn't safe for a woman at night, ma'am."
"Well, I'll have Nicholas to walk me home, so there's no point in worrying about me." She smiled again, and there was something about her smile.
"Of course. Right this way, Mrs. Diamond."
"Miss," she corrected.
"Surely not," he said, smiling. She was easy to joke with; if most women were half so easy to even talk to, he'd probably have more luck. And interest. "Surely the 'friend' you're here for...?"
"Is a lovely gentleman," she said, "but not my husband. He isn't the least bit interested in the position."
He led her to the two cells in the back. All three of the guys who'd just been brought in were together in one, with a couple of drunks lying around and groaning.
"Adelaide," murmured the shortest of the three.
Miss Diamond ignored him. "Nicholas," she scolded. "I expect nonsense from certain other idiots I could name, but you?"
The dark-skinned one gave her a shy look. "Sorry, Miss Adelaide. I was trying to help."
"I'm sure you were, darling." She smiled at him. "Well, I paid your fine. Come along, now."
"But, Adelaide..." Nicholas said, and cast a look at the two men he'd come in with.
"But what, Nick?"
"Adelaide," the short one said quietly. "Please, just hear me out. I'm not asking for the bail—"
"I would think not," Adelaide interrupted. "I have already learned my lesson about lending you money."
"Adelaide, please," he pleaded. "This isn't—I'm sorry. About everything, everything I said. I was—"
"Nicholas, come along," she interrupted, as O'Leary unlocked the cell. "Nathan. Your services at the Hotbox will no longer be required."
"The—oh my god," O'Leary said. And that was when he realized why Nathan had looked familiar, why he'd recognized the name; why he found Adelaide so enticing in a way most women weren't. He swallowed. "Oh. My."
"Oh, dear me," Adelaide said, as he swung the cell shut and locked it again. "Don't tell me you're a fan."
O'Leary nodded wordlessly. "I can't go see shows much," he said. "I mean, it ain't... We got a cop who... He doesn't approve much of your shows."
"Officer Brannigan?" she asked. He nodded. She paused, then stepped closer to him and leaned in. "I don't think there's any need to tell him about us being here. Is there?"
O'Leary whimpered. She—he, he knew—smelled like expensive perfume and hair cream. They were almost nose-to-nose. "I...don't think..." he mumbled. "I don't think so."
"Excellent." Adelaide leaned in and kissed him. "You should come backstage and visit me next time you're in the area."
"I... I'd love to!" he exclaimed.
She walked back towards the exit, with Nick in tow, but she did stop at the door to blow him a kiss. O'Leary sighed happily. What a night.
*
Nathan sank down onto the hard wooden bench and groaned. His whole body ached; it really had been a long time since he'd been in fistfight. The bruises and scrapes were throbbing, and he could swear that every muscle ached. And...and shit.
Jack sat next to him quietly. Nathan waited for a smart remark, but it didn't come. Finally, Nathan muttered, "You hurting as much as me?"
"Yeah," Jack groaned. "We're not seventeen anymore, huh?"
Nathan didn't laugh, didn't even smile. He didn't have the urge to punch Jack anymore, or even tell him off. He didn't care. There were bigger, more depressing things for him to focus on than Jack Kelly.
After a couple more minutes, Jack said, "Look, I called my lawyer. Course, callin' him from jail in the middle of the night just kind of proves to all the guys I work with that I'm not exactly worth listening to." He sighed. "Well, I own enough of the company that they ain't got a choice. Anyways, he'll be by after the bank opens tomorrow. When respectable people do business."
"He said that to you?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah."
"You could always fire him."
Jack gave him a wry smile. "Not until after he bails us out."
"Us?" Nathan asked.
Jack shrugged. "I swung first, figure it's the least I can do."
Nathan didn't thank him. But he didn't argue about it, either. He just groaned again. "What am I gonna do, Jack?" he finally said. "I got nothin' without Thomas. He was my whole life."
Jack sighed. "I'd give you my advice, but since Dave just made it very clear he wants me to drop dead, I'm not exactly qualified."
Nathan managed a wry smile, though it came out more of a grimace. "So you and Dave... I always wondered, you and him... And then you and his sister..."
Jack took a deep breath. "Well, me and Dave never, for one. Me and Sarah, sometimes. If you get my drift."
"Mm," Nathan said. "I just wouldn't have guessed... About you and Dave, I mean. You two were awful close. You pretty much forgot my name whenever he was around."
He hadn't really meant to say that, but it was true enough.
Jack nodded. "Yeah, I... I'm sorry, Nathan. About that. I mean." He glanced around the cell, and noted that one of the drunkards was snoring loudly on the floor, and the other was sitting at the other end of the cell, clutching his stomach and looking pained, clearly not caring too much about what a couple strangers were discussing. "You and me... We was just playing around. That's what I thought, anyway."
"I wish you'd told me that. I woulda skipped things and stayed with Thomas. He never let me forget it, you know. After the strike ended, I swear, if I so much as glanced at you..."
Jack looked a little uncomfortable, but finally said, "I didn't mean to... All these years, I thought it was the strike you were mad about."
"That, too. Goddamn scab. That was low."
"I know it was!" Jack squawked. "It's the thing I'm second-sorriest about in my life."
"And the sorriest is leaving?"
Jack nodded. "Look, Nathan," he finally said, "I really... I didn't think you were serious about me. If I'd realized that, I wouldn't have... I mean, I didn't mean to hurt you. We were friends."
"Yeah," Nathan said. And he could hear it in Jack's voice—something he'd only ever heard once or twice, when they were kids. The rare time Jack shared a secret, his voice had sounded like that—hesitant, almost nervous. And it wasn't that Nathan suddenly got over anything, or forgave Jack in that moment, but he did make the cool-headed decision to give up. Hating Jack Kelly would take too much energy, and just wasn't worth it.
"So," Jack finally said, "what's the deal with you and Tom and money? I heard some of it from Dave and Nick, but..."
Nathan shrugged. "It's all my fault, what do you expect?"
"Meaning?"
"Well... See, I was doing okay for myself, before I even met—uh, re-met, Tom. I was a regular sport, and I even won more than I lost. Hell, that's how I could afford to even meet Tom, I went to the theater 'cause I had a big score that night from the tracks, and..." He trailed off, smiling despite himself. Tom had been very happy to see him, as he'd proved repeatedly... Once behind the screen in his dressing room, once on the table of the dressing room, once in the rail-car kitchen in his apartment, twice in the bedroom, and then once in the bathroom for good measure. A very good night, indeed.
"Anyway," he said hurriedly, feeling the flush on his cheeks, "Tom and me took it up again, which was great. And I was doing okay, you know, and finally I did what I'd wanted to for a long time, and started a kind of... club, you know? We'd meet up, we'd play cards, roll dice, smoke some, drink some, get together to go to the races, go watch Tom's shows..." He laughed. "I surprised a few guys when they figured me out, but hell, most of 'em owed me cash, cared more about that than who I took to bed.
"Well, the club did pretty good. And I was making money, too, hand over fist. I mean, it was my club, so I took a percentage of everything we played; whether I won or lost, I came out on top. Everything was fucking sunshine."
"So what happened?"
"Walter Jones did. Better known as Jonesy." He took a breath. "See, Jonesy, he ran a club, too. A gang, really. And they didn't like competition. Now, I was small time—not even the police looked twice at me. But Jonsey... Well. He invited me to chat. We had a couple drinks. We talked about merging the groups, which would have been great for me. I mean, I'd have been his toady, but I'd have been making a lot more money.
"Things was fine for awhile. And one night, Jonsey asked me to play with 'em, instead of running the game. And I knew...I knew it was my make-or-break night with Jonsey; if I made a good show for myself, I was in. If I made a fool of myself...
"Well. I played. And I didn't have a choice, I put in...I put in money, all I had on me, all I had saved, and a hell of a lot I didn't have. I needed to impress him."
"And you lost?" Jack surmised.
"The fucker cheated! He cheated me, I saw him do it, but how the hell do you prove that in front of his fucking oxen friends?"
"Ah."
"'Ah,' is fucking right." Nathan crossed his arms over his chest and slumped. "Bastard. So of course I didn't have the cash, I gave him my marker, and of course I couldn't pay it up. Especially not when he told me he was done with me—all the guys from my club who were worth playing with were playing with him, the rest were too scared to play anything.
"Tom gave me a job, but it wasn't enough. I ran a game or two on the side, small things, but Jonesy caught one. Said that he didn't like competition, and that I'd better pay up. Gave me a week. Course I couldn't come up with that kind of scratch, so they broke my arm. Gave me the weekend, said if I didn't come up with it, they'd tear my kneecaps off."
He sighed. "But Tom, of course, saved me. Pulled out his nest egg, told me he didn't mind, it was worth it to save my skin. Said he had a vested interest in my knees."
Jack snickered, and Race even managed a wan smile. Thomas was clever, and when he remembered the smirk on Tom's face when he'd made that crack, he felt a sharp pain in his gut and an overwhelming sense of loss.
"But it's not like I could pay him back. Especially when if I managed to rope more than eight, ten people into a game, Jonsey'd break my skull. That's why I was so desperate about tonight. I figured he wouldn't know anyone from out of town, so I'd be able to make a decent score for a change."
"Makes sense," Jack agreed.
Nathan didn't say anything for awhile after that. Jack didn't, either, just let him stew. Or at least, didn't stop him from stewing.
Finally, Nathan said, "What am I gonna do without him, Jack? He saved my life. I love him."
"You ever told him that?"
"Course I have. Maybe not enough. I dunno." Nathan stared at the floor. "I thought he knew, but I guess... I mean, him and me... I guess I always thought he'd be there. Money or no money, I don't know."
Jack nodded a little. "I guess I always thought that about Dave. You know, that I'd be able to come back and he'd be there. God, I was so relieved he wasn't married. For all the good it did me."
Nathan sighed. "I guess I—well, the bet, that was bad business for both of us."
"Yeah."
"Tom was mad enough at me for that, then... I got a big mouth, it ruins things."
"I bet it helps some things," Jack said, and elbowed Nathan, giving him a raunchy grin.
Nathan rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Jack."
Jack did so, obligingly. Finally, he said, "So the cops, they give you a hard enough time, but this Jonesy guy...?"
"They don't bother with him," Nathan said. "He keeps a couple paid off, they keep him out of trouble. Even fucking Brannigan, he'll take a bribe or two and then turn right back around on me and Tom."
"Brannigan," Jack repeated. "Davie told me about him, said his son was queer."
"Yeah, and half in love with Tom," Nathan agreed. "And Brannigan—well, he's got some friends in high places, even takes dinner with the mayor every now and then. And he'll do anything to get to Tom and his friends—me and Nick and Dave, especially."
"Dave?" Jack repeated darkly.
"He's seen Dave with me and Nick too often, maybe even seen him leaving the Hotbox once or twice. Tried to get him kicked off the Library Committee. Good thing he's not too bright, 'cause he couldn't think of a way to tell Mayor Gayner about Dave without telling about his son—and he doesn't want anyone to know about his son."
Jack made a noise of disgust. "Ain't nothing I hate more than a corrupt cop."
Nathan smirked. He knew full well why that was.
"You know what I found out, few years ago?" Jack asked abruptly.
"What?"
"Warden Snyder, that bastard, he knew about my mom. And her parents. And their ranch. Funny how he forgot to mention it to me."
"Son of a bitch," Nathan said.
"I got no use," Jack said, stretching and yawning, "for corrupt cops."
"No one does," Nathan answered.
"The way I see it," Jack said, glancing at him, "you got three problems, Nathan. You got Tom. You got this cop. And you got Jonsey. Now, you ain't gonna like this, since it's coming from me, but I think I can solve all three."
"Yeah?" Nathan asked. "How's that?"
"Simple, Nathan. This Brannigan fellow ain't the only one who knows the mayor."